


do these tacos taste funny to you?

by escapismandsharpobjects



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Whumptober 2020, drugged, there's not like. graphic violence in here but there is Some vague torture idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:47:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27156829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/escapismandsharpobjects/pseuds/escapismandsharpobjects
Summary: whumptober day 22 - prompt: drugged.He wakes up and he doesn’t know where he is. His whole body hurts, and he feels like he’s underwater. His head is pounding.
Relationships: Isabel Evans & Max Evans & Michael Guerin
Kudos: 7
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	do these tacos taste funny to you?

**Author's Note:**

> hiya! this fic does not have a whole lot of plot to it but we're just gonna go with it ok? hope you like it anyway!

“You’re not working tonight, Evans,” Maria calls at him, the second he walks through the door of the Pony. 

“I know,” he returns, sinking onto a barstool. “Just came for a drink.”

Maria shakes her head. “So you come to the bar where you work. Alone. That’s a little sad, Evans.”

He laughs as she pours him a drink. “Thanks, that’s just what I needed to hear.”

“Anytime,” Maria says, and turns to help a customer. 

Max sips slowly at his drink, looking around the bar. It’s a pretty decent crowd for a Wednesday night, he thinks. He recognizes just about everybody in that crowd, save for the man that’s just walked through the door. He’s dressed in a way that makes it clear he’s not from anywhere near Roswell, and there’s something about him that Max finds unsettling. He shrugs it off, but can’t help tensing up when the man sits down on the stool right next to him.

“Hey,” the man says, and Max gives him a nod. “I heard this place was popular with the locals,” he goes on, as Max says nothing. “I just moved here from New York City, so I thought what the hell, might as well meet my neighbors. I’m Cary,” he adds, extending a hand.

Max takes it reluctantly and doesn’t offer his name. He can’t tell what it is about this guy that’s put him so on edge, but he doesn’t bother to think about it too hard. Gut feelings like this, he’s learned, are rarely wrong, and he’s in no mood for any kind of confrontation. “Excuse me,” he says, shoving himself away from the bar. 

“Sure thing,” Cary says, and offers Max a smile. Max represses a shudder and hurries off to the bathroom. 

He can’t hide in there forever, of course. He thinks for a second about calling Michael or Isobel, and having them come down to see if they feel like anything’s up. He decides against that, though. No need to get them involved in something that’s just a feeling. He makes up his mind to go back out to the bar and give Cary an interrogation of sorts, figure out who he is and what he wants. 

Which would be a fine plan, except for the fact that when he emerges from the bathroom, the man is nowhere to be seen. Max sighs and sinks back down onto his stool, swirling around the remnants of his drink as he waits for Maria to finish talking to someone.

“Did you see where the guy that was sitting next to me went?” he asks, as she refills his drink. “I wanted to talk to him.”

Maria shrugs. “I think he left. What did you want to talk to him about?”

Max shrugs back. He doesn’t really want to go around making unfounded accusations. He takes a large sip of his drink to avoid answering, but Maria just stares at him, waiting for him to say something.

“I just...felt like there was something off about him,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s stupid, I know, but I can’t shake this feeling. I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

Maria nods in understanding. “Go with the feeling,” she suggests. “Trust your instincts.”

“Thanks,” Max replies, making up his mind then and there to search all over town for Cary if he has to. He gets up from his seat again, but Maria grabs his arm and pulls him back down.

“Slow down,” she warns. “I know you haven’t had much, but you did just finish that drink. Wait fifteen minutes, and I’ll give you these,” she says, holding up the keys he hadn’t even realized she’d taken.

“But-” he protests, and she cuts him off. 

“No buts, Evans. Your guy will still be not here in fifteen minutes.”

Max groans in frustration but relents, resigning himself to staring at the door, just in case Cary comes back in. 

As the minutes pass, Max starts to feel... _ off. _ Waves of dizziness and nausea periodically roll through him, and he feels far more tired than he ought to, considering the relatively early hour. He’s about to bring this up to someone when Maria passes him his keys, warning him to be careful with this guy.

He nods, fumbling with the keys for a second, and then stands up, bracing himself on the counter as a particularly strong wave of dizziness hits him. 

“You okay?” Maria asks, but he brushes her off, heading for the door in as straight a line as he can manage.  _ Maybe I should sit down, _ he thinks, but then he thinks,  _ no, wait, I have to find this guy...what was his name? Cory? _

“Cary,” says a voice from next to him, and Max startles, having not realized he was speaking aloud. He whirls around to face the person speaking to him, but the world tilts sideways, and he stumbles, but someone catches him under the arms, then picks him up, which makes his head spin even more, and then everything fades into nothingness.

\--

He wakes up and he doesn’t know where he is. His whole body hurts, and he feels like he’s underwater. His head is pounding. 

He forces his eyes to open but he can’t see anything, and then something cylindrical and very hard is smacking into his stomach, and it hurts but he can’t find the strength to scream. The object, whatever it is, hits him again and again, and his whole body is shaking with the pain and his only thought is constant begging:  _ make it stop, please make it stop… _

And then it does. Max wonders for a second if he somehow made this attack stop with some kind of previously-undiscovered mind powers, but then he hears something jangling and suddenly there’s what feels like a chain whipping into his back, and he groans softly, the most noise he can make. It hits him again, harder and harder each time, until the pain is a blinding-white cloud surrounding him and he can’t tell which way is up and he feels strangely detached from his own body. And then the white begins to be overtaken with black, and he sinks gratefully into the painless embrace of unconsciousness.

\--

He wakes up and he doesn’t know where he is. His whole body hurts, and he feels like he’s underwater. His head is pounding. His back feels like it’s been twisted, like a rag being wrung out, and his stomach feels like it’s been run over, and breathing hurts, and his eyes are closed so he can’t see anything, but he feels the world spinning, and he’s never been this dizzy before. He thinks he might be moving, and he thinks there’s somebody next to him, but everything is so messed up that he doesn’t know for certain. All he knows is that he’s never felt this bad in his whole life, which is saying something. He wants to cry, or maybe scream, but he is far too tired. 

“I think he’s awake,” Max hears someone say, over the constant pounding in his brain. “Max?”

_ Isobel. _ He blinks his eyes open slowly, gazing blearily around the blessedly-familiar environment of Michael’s truck until he sees her. 

“Hi,” she says. “How do you feel?”

He closes his eyes again. “Bad,” he manages to whisper. 

“No shit,” says Michael’s voice from next to Isobel. “Anything  _ else?” _

“Dizzy,” Max says. He doesn’t know how to encapsulate the sheer volume of pain that his body is in, so he settles for saying, “hurts,” and hopes that his siblings understand.

“We know,” Isobel says, sympathetically. “Just hold on, we’ll be there in a minute. You’ll be okay.”

Max doubts that. He wonders for a second where it is they’re going, but decides it’s not worth asking. 

“Isn’t there any acetone in here?” Isobel asks, and Max hears her rummaging around.

“Dunno,” he replies, wishing that he could fall asleep again.

“She wasn’t talking to you,” Michael says, and Max hears a soft  _ thwack. _ “He’s on drugs, Michael, cut him some slack,” Isobel says. 

_ Drugs?  _ Max wonders.  _ Makes sense, _ he decides. A particularly nasty throb from his aching back makes him lose track of the conversation for a minute, and when he manages to focus again, Michael is defending himself against Isobel.

“I’m sorry there’s none in here, okay, Iz? But it might not be the best idea, anyway, We don’t know-”

Max interrupts. “What’s not the best idea?” he asks, the words slurring into one mess.

“The acetone, because…” Whatever Michael might have been saying is lost as another wave of dizziness envelops Max, and he can feel himself spinning though he  _ knows  _ he’s not actually spinning, and before he has time to stop it, he’s throwing up, not even able to bend over because of the pain in his stomach and back. 

“Because we don’t know how it’ll react with the drugs in his stomach,” Michael finishes, as Isobel makes a faintly disgusted noise. Max feels her hand hover next to his face, not touching him, like she’s worried she’ll only hurt him more.

Throwing up had really not felt so good on his battered body, and Max yet again loses himself in a haze of pain, feeling tears start to drip down his face for the first time. Everything hurts  _ so much, _ and he just wants it all to stop, and the world is a jumbled mess of pain and motion and noise, and then he  _ finally  _ passes out. 

\--

The next time he wakes up, he finally knows where he is, immediately: at home, in his bed. Everything hurts, and he’s groggy, but he’s not excruciatingly dizzy or exhausted. He takes stock of himself, trying to remember what he’d been doing before he’d woken up. Vague flashes of the Pony and Michael’s truck come to mind, but he knows he’s missing time. His head is aching and there’s something wrapped around his torso, which unfortunately doesn’t feel like it’s doing anything for the pain of what seems to be one absolutely  _ massive  _ bruise.

Following this, Max takes stock of his surroundings. Warm sunlight is peeking through the window, and he remembers, for a split second, darkness and pain and complete disorientation. But the image fades, and he gives his achy head a shake to clear it as he continues looking around. There’s a glass of water on his bedside table, and a second, smaller glass of acetone beside it, with a note on it warning him not to drink it too quickly. He obeys the note, which is in Isobel’s handwriting, taking small sips of the acetone, feeling it slowly seep into his bones, lessening the pain marginally. 

When he finishes it, he becomes aware of the fact that he’s  _ still  _ tired. A large part of him doesn’t want to go back to sleep - he can barely remember anything, doesn’t know why he’s hurting or who hurt him or how he got here. But then he hears something from the living room. He panics for a second before recognizing Michael’s voice, and then Isobel’s, and he can’t help but smile as he lets his eyes close. They’re here, which means he’s safe, and everything’s going to be okay. He falls back asleep, trusting that the next time he wakes up, he’ll still be right where he is.

**Author's Note:**

> thank u so much for reading this!! in case you were wondering the drug he was given was just rohypnol i know it's kinda boring but oh well it's easy you know? also idk where cary went or what he wanted lol, it's whatever tho. i hope that you liked this and thanks again so much for reading it! please let me know what you think!


End file.
